


Some Idea to Replace My Life

by Ottra



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Crowley (Good Omens) is Crowley (Supernatural), Gen, Memory Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:32:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ottra/pseuds/Ottra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the most disobedient angels, Naomi writes entirely new identities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Idea to Replace My Life

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song “For the Widows in Paradise, For the Fatherless in Yipsilanti” by Sufjan Stevens. This is just a snippet of an idea that came to me. I may continue it, I may not. Depends if I can figure out where to go with it next.

 Aziraphale had just sat down with a freshly made cup of tea when he found himself somewhere that was most definitely _not_ his bookstore. Instinctively, Aziraphale knew he was in heaven, but this was a part of heaven he had never seen before. The walls were futuristic looking, made of glass and mirrors, and the carpet on the floor was white. The whole set up reminded the angel vaguely of Crowley’s apartment.

 In front of Aziraphale was a large glass desk, and sitting at the desk was a prim looking lady angel in a blue suit.

 “Hello Aziraphale.” She said with a tight-lipped smile. “My name is Naomi.”

 Aziraphale fought the urge to frown and failed. “How have I never met you? Am I here for new instruction?” Which was something he seriously doubted. Aziraphale hadn’t received new instruction for five thousand years.

 “No, Aziraphale I’ve brought you here about the failed apocalypse and your consorting with a certain… demon.”

 For some reason, Aziraphale couldn’t find it in himself to be terrified. If Heaven had torture rooms, (Which Aziraphale liked to believe it didn’t, while he knew it did.) this didn’t look like it would be one of them.

 “You are going to… punish me?”

 Naomi stared at him, her expression unchanging. “No. We are going to talk, and then you will not remember anything.”

\---

 Hell found Crowley in an outdoor café in Paris. He was taking a second sip of his ridiculously expensive espresso when the radio nearby decided to stop playing classical music and instead start broadcasting the voice of Crowley’s superior.

**_YOU HAVE BEEN MOVING AROUND MUCH, CROWLEY_ **

 Crowley shrugged. “Places to be, people to temp.”

**_YOU DO KNOW YOU CANNOT HIDE FROM US_ **

 Crowley felt a shiver go down his spine, but did his best to hide it. “Why would I want to hide?”

 ** _WE KNOW ABOUT THE APOCALYPSE, AND THE ANGEL_**  

 The space surrounding Crowley rippled like a mirage, and he found himself down below, cuffed to a chair by his arms and head. A demon stood in front of him with a wicked smile on its pasty face. 

 “So… er, you’re the one who’s going to torture me t-then?”

 “No,” It replied, in a voice as slow as syrup and a rough as nails. “This exercise is different… A little something I learned from the folks upstairs.”

 The demon cut into his head with a scalpel, and Crowley saw white. 

\---

 When Crowley and Castiel first meet in the 21st century, they both feel a nagging _something_ that says ‘you know this creature.’ They both ignore it, writing it off as recognition of the other’s power.

 They’re both very different than they once were.


End file.
